Only Borrowed

Only Borrowed

(“When you harvest your land’s produce, you must not harvest all the way to the edge of your field; and don’t gather every remaining bit of your harvest. Leave these items for the poor and the immigrant; I am the Lord your God.” Leviticus 23:22)

If you find your place on the planet, clear the land,
plant the seed, amplify the harvest, use what you need,
only what you need. Do not waste your time or edges,
do not consume the fringes, cut back the hedges you built to
protect your investment.

Less hinges on your insurance; more on the emptied closet,
the inches trimmed to feed the rest. More depends on your
radical placement,
responsible payment of debt

For the ground that warmed your seed,
for the seed that raised the value,
for the harvest that graced the avenue
with a golden invitation that nothing
is owned

But only borrowed. Plant your feet,
take a breath,
exhale slowly,
let the lowly come to mind with
the next mouthful of gifted air.

Let your hands be rough from volunteered labor,
your words soft like the evening star,
your face warm as sun-warmed loam,
your eyes jammed full like goose-down pillows;

A new delight, an expansive embrace, the response of
a grace learned from constantly tripping on the roots of trees

That hugged the spot, the suburban plot,
generations before you thought
it was your own.

Out of the Ashes

He lifts the poor from the dust. He lifts the needy from a garbage heap.” Psalm 113:7

I love Rags to Riches stories. My dad loved to root for the underdog. Stories of the hopeless rising up out of their despair and into a renewed life inspire us all. It may be a story like Abraham Lincoln, rising from the humble beginnings of a log cabin, reading book after book by the faint flame of the fireplace, ascending to arguably the greatest Presidency of our nation. I love to watch unheralded sport figures, perhaps a quarterback picked far down in the draft, going on to Super Bowl achievements.

Beyond Daylight

Beyond Daylight

(“Father of orphans and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5)

Above the daylight of designer labels,
beyond the sound of battleground buyouts
the remaining world exists, third and fourth and more,
far beyond the normal ear’s hearing and the sight
of the never-blind.

All along the boulevard
names and cuisine are created from French phrases;
at each will-lit corner
near-cold is wrapped with a thousand embraces from
a closet of cloaks for each occasion, and an extra for
the wet days when there is no time to dry clean.
Midtown or forgotten peasantry on parched eyes,
 the dark and dense bread rests on
the stone at the corner of the room. Another procession
of days threatens to shrink the brittle bit of existence
gleaned beneath normal snacks and meals.

Birdwatchers stroll the park, dressed-up pets bark
at bikers and joggers squeezing in time.
Another ear hears the flap of quail far from
the avenues and well-trimmed perimeters, and
trusts the sling to bring home enough to roast
for another week. It took all day from light to
half-moon shadow.

Earth is dust, the ocean’s rough and deep,
beyond the reach of sticks and stones.
Bare skin gives way to sun, tender young to crust,
sunken eyes, plump to shapeless bones.

Beyond the daylight a forgotten orphan,
above the sound a shadowless widow,
the Kingdom of Heaven rules, then and now and more,
far above the dusty silk and linen; Father
of all, King of the poor, erases the names
of labels and cuisine.

The Father of all, everyman’s King is seen
spending the day in the heat, the night at the feet
of children whose father left to hunt bread or game
and, so they told Him, has not yet returned.

A Little Power

A Little Power

(“I know what you do; I know that you have a little power; you have followed my teaching and have been faithful to me. I have opened a door in front of you, which no one can close.” Revelation 3:8)

She stumbled, famished and fatigued, not because
she was weak, but her strength had been used
following the narrow road which lead to the craggy peak
where the storehouse of favor was kept.

Yet others, starting later, insisted she stand on her own,
thought her eyes were hollow, her breath shallow and
her heart
pounding so loud it echoed off the circuit of judges
around her.

She could barely turn her head, let alone keep her children fed,
and left her home years ago to follow a dream she hoped would speed
the promises that hard work pays off in the end.

But, for a season, her legs forsook her, her sight blurred and
silence stirred where once the music sent her dancing on her way,
this day and the next, closer to the summit, further towards the crest
where she would show them, finally, that she was as strong as
all the rest.

She was not near death, though she might have welcomed it;
instead she felt every unspoken thought, every backward glance
that suspected she indeed was like
all the rest

Who live in cardboard houses and pay for groceries with stamps.

She had started alone, the crowd carried each other’s weight,
she was on her own. And upon their offer of help her eyes brightened.

Just the thought renewed a moment’s strength until…

They requested, kindly of course, that she be tested for drugs and
the tendency to cheat because they had their numbers in a row,
and they were tired of paying for the poor who seemed
to always buy more than they needed.

No one remembered words about giving two coats when asked for one,
a second mile following the first one,
and freely giving for we who started later, in our vigor,
had freely received, after all.

Pocket Neighborhoods

Pocket Neighborhoods

(“Seek good and not evil—and live! You talk about God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, being your best friend. Well, live like it, and maybe it will happen.” Amos 5:14 [The Message])

Shall we sentence capital, thus ending our options,
if one innocent life can no longer speak?

We know the dead have no voice,
their pockets are empty,
their mouths without sound,
their eyes no longer seeking the justice
only the living can find.

Shall we put our hands in our pockets
fingering the gold coins we keep warm
against another cold snap? And what if the gold
is less precious than bread,
silver the less than the tin sardines are sold in?

We dreamed and built our houses better,
higher on the hill than we expected. The climb
was worth it, here out of touch from the grimy fingers
that pretend only to want lunch but haven’t eaten in a week.

We hire singers to soothe the conscience which occasionally
prompts backstage of our private performances. When we
run out, we pay double for musicians to make up tunes
just to keep the background noise right up front
drowning the script good parents taught about
give, share, kind and doubt about our certainties
of who deserves dessert and who should be left out.
And we sing loudest when the band strikes up
“Amazing Grace”.

We need a new neighborhood, perhaps where the condos
are built of cardboard; the timeshare pools the puddles after rain.
We need neighbors by name, by cousin, by cuisine we’ve
never tasted and now, pockets empty, are free to dine.